Ok, so here’s the thing about the Lectionary Muse: evidently you have to actually write down the stuff that the muse sends your way in order for anyone to read it. Go figure.

And here’s the second thing: The Muse this week, ironically as you’ll soon see, didn’t especially move in the totality of the readings, but, wow, have I been stuck on my heels thinking about this one sentence from the Gospel reading. Here it is:

The wind blows where it wills, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know whence it comes or whither it goes; so it is with every one who is born of the Spirit.

For those of you keeping score at home, that’s in John 3.

I had a whole thought poem on disc golf worked out over this thing, but it went nowhere; just came and went. I thought for most of Tuesday afternoon that I’d worked out a connection with the reading from Romans

If it is the adherents of the law who are to be the heirs, faith is null and and the promise is void.

but in the end turned out I didn’t. I even wondered if there wasn’t some connection to the 33rd Psalm

From where he sits enthroned he turns his gaze on all who dwell on the earth.

but again, not so much. And I really had nothing going on with the passage from Genesis about Abram going from his country.

In fact, intellectually, I had very little trouble at all linking together the OT, NT, and Psalm readings. Probably could have written up a nice little something there. But the wind…

Come quickly to help us who are assaulted by many temptations; and, as you know the weaknesses of each of us, let each one find you mighty to save
—Collect for First Sunday in Lent

• Genesis 2:4b-9, 15-17, 35-3:7
• Psalm 51:1-13
• Matthew 4:1-11
• Romans5:12-19

It’s not quite the Romans Road, but the readings for the First Sunday in Lent could easily be turned into a nifty evangelistic tool. We begin in Genesis with the temptation and fall of Adam and Eve. We then move to the Psalms where we acknowledge that we are sinful and beg God for cleansing. Next comes the Gospel where the temptation of Adam is replayed, except this time the tempter fails as Christ rebuffs his increasingly attractive offers. Finally, in Romans, the explanation of how the free gift of justification is purchased by Christ’s sacrifice.

Sin, confession, propitiation, justification, righteousness not of our own. The whole story.

Perhaps it is appropriate, but two passages dealing with the nature of sin stick out to me:

“Give me the joy of your saving help again and sustain me with your bountiful spirit” (Psalm 51:13)

It’s the “again” that catches me here. Up until this point in the poem, the confession could easily be read as the first time confession of the sinner. The depth of the poet’s despair over “my wickedness” that exists “from my birth” and submission of “you are justified when you speak” all sound to me like the words of a person just come to the realization of their plight before the Lord. But then the clincher, “Give me the joy of your saving help AGAIN.” This is no first-time felon tearfully seeing the error of his ways and turning around to take a new path in life. This is the despairing cry of a struggling believer who, having before confessed his sin, falls right back down. It’s a person caught in the midst of a muddy mire who slips and falls face first into the muck time and again. Each time he falls, he begs for a hand up and cleansing bath only to step in exactly the same slippery spot again.

There’s a seeming contrast here to Christ’s temptation in the desert; after all, He only gets tempted the once. But not really. Not only does Satan keep coming back to Christ three times with increasingly grand offers, but even though Christ resists this once, are not these the kind of offers that He could take at any time? We know that Christ had no home. Tell me He never was tempted to wave his hand and conjure up a comfy abode, warming fire, tasty feast when He was on the dusty roads of Galilee. Tell me He never wanted to give in to the messianic fantasies of His disciples and fellow Israelites. Tell me He never wanted to call on the angels to save Him from the tortures of the Cross. No, Satan may have only come to Him once in the desert, but the temptations he placed before Christ were the kinds of sin that would constantly pick at Him throughout His life, constantly whisper in His ear. Yet, while we were yet sinners (and sinning), He, Christ, the perfect one who knew all of our troubles, died for us.

“Sin indeed was in the world before the law was given, but sin was not counted where there is no law. Yet death reigned from Adam to Moses, even over those whose sins were not like the transgression of Adam” (Romans 5:13-14).

I’m reminded here of Romans 1:18-20, especially the words “the invisible things of him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even his eternal power and Godhead; so that they are without excuse.” In other words, even though without the Law there is no credible way to catalog sin, there are things in life that we innately know are wrong. C.S. Lewis, in an appendix to The Abolition of Man, collects various moral values from religions around the globe, rights and wrongs which seem to be universally knows to humanity even when people groups have been isolated from any contact with Judeo-Christian ethics. The first time I read this list, I remember thinking that such a list gives the lie to those who would like to believe in Christianity simply as a moral code. If your sole purpose for believing in Christianity is for its morals, there is really no reason in the world to believe in Christianity over any other religious, or irreligious, moral system. The attraction to Christianity must be more than just its morality; it must be centered in the person of Christ and the character of God. Otherwise, it’s simply yet another expression of those truths which are evident in Nature about what is right.

Further, even though there might not be a codified rule of behavior, God still expects us to behave. “Death reigned from Adam to Moses” because even without a mandate from heaven, we still knew what was wrong and did it anyways. The Psalmist shows us this. “I have been wicked from my birth, a sinner from my mother’s womb.”

It’s easy in these verses to fixate on the universality of sin and the hopelessness of our ability to rise above it. But this wouldn’t be a Gospel tract of good news if there wasn’t light at the end. And so it is. “As one man’s trespass led to condemnation for all men, so one man’s act of righteousness leads to acquittal and life for all men…by one man’s obedience many will be made righteous.”

Soli Deo Gloria.

either Ron Weasley or Hagrid. That is, when I take their Harry Potter: Which Character Am I? quiz that’s what comes out.

You know, that’s not so bad.

One of the blessings/hazards of studying literature is that you start seeing meaning in patterns, and you see patterns everywhere. One of the patterns of my life that I’ve noticed is that when I start hearing the same message (especially about matters of the spiritual life) coming from different sources, I ought to pay attention.

This past week I received an advance copy of the Episcopal Community Services Foundation Lenten meditations. As I was paging my way through the booklet to get to the meditations I’d written for the last week of Lent, I came upon another contributor writing something about shifting the negative “giving up” of something for Lent to a positive “doing” something for Lent. I appreciated the sentiment but, even cutting it some slack for the 200-word limit, thought it a bit touchy-feely and undeveloped for me.

Fast forward to Sunday’s sermon in church. Our rector, unbeknownst to himself and the author of that Lenten meditation, provided all the development and Biblical underpinning one could want for the notion that we should be doing something during Lent. In short, the rector went back to the whole practice of fasting as seen in scripture. The practice is not simply to “give up” eating for a time but also to use the time one would normally spend feeding oneself to do some other good: repent, seek God’s will, do good, etc. Such an approach to the idea of a Lenten devotion actually undermines the notion of “giving up” certain foods for the season as that action does not really create any time for prayer, study, or action. Sure, any time we practice a form of discipline it can have benefits, if only to develop in ourselves the ability not to give in to our appetites. But it seems to me that the purpose of a Lenten devotion is to sacrifice something with the idea that in doing so we are preparing ourselves, cleansing ourselves, for the celebration of the resurrection.

So then, what am I going to do about this? I don’t know precisely what is going to be given up or fasted to create the space to do this, but I plan on carving out at least 30 minutes a week to revive an old project. It might mean giving up a meal or TV program or some time with the guitar, but it seems to me that what is given up is less important than what is done with the vacated time. A few years ago I got it into my head that it would be a worthwhile thing to write up some thoughts on each week’s Lectionary readings, especially focusing on the unity of the four readings. Rather than focus on just one of the readings, what do the Scriptures have to say when seen in the light of the other readings chosen for each Sunday? I started the project with the idea of doing an entire Church year and quickly faltered. My goal this Lent is more modest. Starting this week, I’ll post some thoughts on the Lectionary readings before each Monday in Lent.

Hold me to it.